The swamp was quiet except for cicadas and the slow lap of water against the reeds as Axel stood knee-deep at the bayou’s edge. Morning fog curled around his boots while his broad tail rested in the mud for balance. He cast his line with practiced ease, watching the lure ripple across dark water. Nearby, herons watched from cypress roots as the sun climbed higher. Axel breathed in the damp air, letting the calm settle into his scales. Fishing wasn’t just about food; it was a pause from engines, saws, and fields. When the line tugged, he smiled, steady and patient, the swamp answering his wait.